Double Dealing Dog: Last in a Long Line of Fine Canines

By d. j. posner

From Underdog to Top Dog

Just as a hit popular song is meticulously woven, so too is the human-canine spiritual bond.

Double Dealing Dog is delivered in a female voice that resonates above an orchestration of soulful thoughts. Posner spins her fable in both an expressive and humorous style that has become her fl air. A stor

• Language: English
• Publisher: Progressive Business Solutions LLC
• Release date: Nov 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781736939956

d. j. posner

d. j. posner is a native of Maryland and now resides on Siesta Key, Florida along with her husband and her two canine souls. This book is in the last volume in her series of ‘live well, feel good, love much’ books. Her prescription of living with a joy-filled positive and generous spirit has carried her through life’s highways and by-ways.

Book preview

chapter 1

It’s a long story, worthy of telling as to how I came to own and love Miss Pearl Bailey, one Two-Timing, Double-Dealing Dog! First, for the sake of narration, it may serve well to introduce myself. My given name is Delilah Jasmine, a tried-and-true southern moniker handed down to me by my parents and grandparents. It’s been a difficult name to live with in many ways, but, in other ways, it has afforded me some measure of autonomy. So, to keep the peace and stay reconciled within the family tree, I have accepted the title, and, I hope, have worn the name well. Now, with all that established, let’s commence with the story of this hellion canine, a tale that actually begins in the years that led up to Pearl Bailey’s arrival—the years when my life was filled with two of the world’s best dogs.

Joy filled my life and heart in those days. It was easy to love all things, furry and otherwise, when you were greeted each morning with such unabashed adoration. Coming home to your hearth at day’s end and being met with oodles of affection completes one’s soul. And that was the way my life progressed until the inevitable took away those lifelines.

Let me start with Misha. Misha was a handsome dude, a lesser-publicized French breed known as Coton du Tulear. True to his lineage, he possessed great dignity and swagger. At a little less than twelve pounds, Misha dominated his territory with grace and style. With hair as fine as spun silk in tones of apricot and crème, he captivated every being with whom he came into contact. Sporting warm, golden-brown eyes, he possessed a mischievous smile that was evident right down to the tip of his tail.

Misha came to me in an interesting way. At this point, I probably should introduce The Professor, my husband of great joviality. We have been married for eons, and we are complete opposites, but somehow the synergy has worked for us. Relaxed in our newly empty nest with both of his two children thriving in college, and us basically broke paying tuition, contentment still abounded. The freedom that we both had regained was deep and satisfying. Until . . . until one day, when The Professor came sauntering in with what I thought was the most precious ball of fur I had ever laid eyes on. Misha had the semblance of a stuffed animal, and I remember squealing at the sight. Why had The Professor brought this adorable pup to me? The story that follows was quintessentially my husband.

The Professor, a hard-working, no-nonsense soul, had an appointment with a long-time alum, a vibrant and somewhat questionable Frenchman—a colorful character always involved in schemes and dreams. The Professor described that, during this consultation, the gentleman explained that he, in return for The Professor’s astute advice, could offer a pup from an unsanctioned litter, a product of his breeding pair. Mon Dieu! the man declared to The Professor, "The boy dog found the girl dog when I was not looking, and now I can only give the bébés away!’ As the story dragged on, I came to realize that this was a done deal. Oh, my, I thought. Always quick on my feet, I scrambled to defend my liberation from being a caretaker of adopted beings. I excitedly called out, I can’t have a little dog, Sir; I am a big-dog girl! He just looked at me with a shrug, a sure indicator that it was a done deal. Thus began my love affair with the world’s cutest little dog, our Misha!

Misha was a steady Capricorn soul. I could always rely on him to amuse me and yet sit quietly beside me when that was what I needed more. He was frisky in his puppy years, his spirited antics lending him a reputation among the neighborhood as being wanted more than the FBI’s top ten. Joggers Beware applied if their path took them past our house. Interposing upon a runner’s tranquility, Misha’s staccato bark while running the fence line was certainly alarming at best.

Still, we nestled together just fine as the months zoomed by and our little five-pound mass of fur grew into a handsome, prancing dog—true to his show-quality title, of which he had been stripped when his harlot mother made the decision to take on his pursuing father!

chapter 2

It is a fine feeling to be sitting at your desk with a dog on your feet. There is something so satisfying in that dependence. I have never been without at least one dog in my life. My love affair and the parade of big canine companions began with a stunning German Shepherd that my father acquired as a guardian for my mother and us kids while he went to school at night. We named her Heidi after the wonderful family film of the same name. She was a magnificent beast, fiercely loyal and devoted to our family. She served us all well right into her fifteenth year when, mourning the death of our beloved grandfather, she could no longer endure.

It wasn’t long thereafter that Sammy took hold in our family. Sammy was a big black Labrador, full of vim and vigor. He thought my father walked on water, and secretly, so did I. My brother